


Meant to Be

by idunnowatimdoing



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 17:11:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idunnowatimdoing/pseuds/idunnowatimdoing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles can't explain the dreams he's been having. All of them revolve around the life of one boy: Erik Lensherr. For years, Charles dreams of Erik's life and grows to know him. What happens when one night, their paths cross?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this at fanfiction.net under the username Rainy Skye Rose

**Charles POV  
**

The boy screamed, attempting to escape from the soldiers holding him. The wool from his jacket irritated his skin and he could feel the imprints from the medals of valor the soldiers wore. His throat felt hoarse as he screamed and screamed. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he screamed, the soldiers held on to him with their iron grip. His vision grew blurry as he started to tear up. But the image of his mother, tears mixed with grime sliding down her face, being carried further and further from him was permanently burned into the backs of his eyes.

His head was getting light, his vision going dark around the edges as he started to lose consciousness. He was drifting, his body going light. Then something within him clicked into place and he felt a part of him that he had never felt before come forth. It was a part of him that viewed survival as the most important thing. A part of him that had a desire to live. An almost animalistic side.

Then it was like something slammed into him. His anger peaked and his vision became red. He screamed all the more and didn't feel a thing even as the soldiers clung to him so tightly he would have bruises later. He just kept screaming; the part of his mind that wanted to survive was fighting anyone and everyone around him. He felt a twist in his guts as his ears filled with the screeching of metal bending. Then something slammed into the back of his head, causing a flash of white to fill his vision before he passed out.

Charles Xavier awoke in his bed, screaming. Images of his dream flashed before his mind. A young boy bearing a yellow Star of David on his chest, his light brown hair tasseled, blue eyes flashing like ice daggers as he thrashed against his captors. The woman who he recognized as the boy's mother being carried off in wave after wave of people trying to escape the Nazis. The boy's face streaked with tears as he screamed for her. Then the twisting of metal as the gates pulled towards the boy, magnetized towards him. He felt the nervousness of the prisoners, the curiosity of their destination, the hope that the promises of the Germans were true, the fear that the rumors of the concentration camps were true. The pride of the task the soldiers had been given, their hatred towards the prisoners for being abominations, the pleasure they took in destroying the imperfections. But worst of all, he felt the absolute terror and agony of the boy. The pure hatred and mind blowing pain as he was ripped from his mother and contained in the arms of the soldiers. Then he felt something snap within him as he lashed out, his desire to survive overpowering his conscious.

Charles didn't even realize he was crying until a tear streaked past his nose and hit his pillow. Sitting up in bed, Charles began to sob, his body feeling all the pain and suffering mixed with the pride and sense of justice. The fact that he felt that way about the deaths of thousands had him rushing to the bathroom. Dropping to his knees, he began to wretch all the contents of his stomach into the white porcelain toilet. When his stomach finally ran out, he began throwing up bile. Exhausted, Charles collapsed onto the tile floor. The cold seeped into his cheek and forehead. His throat was sore, which only reminded him more of the boy. Charles couldn't seem to get the image of the boy's face twisted up in agony out of his mind. His stomach heaved again and Charles got up again, dry heaving into the toilet. His whole body complained as spasms racked him, going up and down his spine. When the tremors subsided and he was finally confident the process was over, Charles got up and lay back in bed.

Just as he was beginning to drift back to sleep, Charles felt another presence in the house. Eyes flashing open, he pulled back the covers and slipped out of bed, grabbing the bat propped behind the door on his way out. As he walked the halls, Charles mind began processing. The presence didn't belong to anyone he had felt before. It was not anyone he knew. Walking into the kitchen, Charles saw a bright red dress sticking out from behind the open refrigerator. Her curled blonde hair styled back, my mother's image searched through the contents of the refrige.

"Mother," he called, lowering my bat, playing along out of curiosity. He wanted to know who this person was and how it was they could create such a perfect replica of his mother's persona. "What're you-? I thought you were a burglar," he said, walking towards the kitchen with a measured pace.

The thing shut the door in surprise, quickly gaining composure and slowly turning to face him with leveling eyes. If he did not know for a fact that this thing was not his mother, he might have believed she was, that was how perfect the replication was. It had gotten even the accent down to a T.

"I didn't mean to scare you, darling ," it said, resting its hand upon its hip as it smoothly replied, "I was just getting a snack." There it was, Charles thought. That word. His mother never,  _never,_  called him darling or any other sort of endearment. "Go back to bed," it said. Charles stayed where he was, unable to move from the spot. If this wasn't his mother, then who was it? "What's the matter? Go on, back to bed," it said, it's voice hinted with panic as he didn't move. Leaning down, it looked at him with what it must have believed to be how his mother looked at him. It made him choke up. His mother had never looked at him with such love in his entire life. " I'll make you hot chocolate," it said, probably figuring that to be the motherly sort of thing to do in this instance.

"Who are you?" Charles asked. His head swiveled around to look at the wall where the only picture of him and his mother being seemingly docile hung. In that picture he was garnished in his Sunday best, and his mother was wearing the latest trend; an American design dress in red. The exact dress it was wearing now. Well, it seemed the thing could only copy what it saw. "And what have you done with my mother?" Charles asked, turning to face it again. Then he reached to its mind, speaking there instead of aloud. "My mother had never set foot in this kitchen in her life. And she certainly never made me a hot chocolate," Charles said, his throat choking up." Unless she can't order a maid to do it."

For a moment Charles thought it was going to fight, but then a look of resignation crossed its face. A ripple ran through its body, starting at its head and going down the spine all the way to the bottom. It was like watching a bird ruffle its feathers. One instant his mother was standing there, then a short, young, blue-skinned girl with slicked back red hair stood before him. "You're… not scared of me?" She asked, seeming to be trying to cover his rather exposed body. But Charles didn't feel in the least bit indecent as he openly stared at her in astonishment. It was amazing. He knew he couldn't be the only one, and here she was, living proof of this.

"I always knew I couldn't be the only one in the world," Charles breathed out, staring at her still. "The only one who was… different," he said, forcing himself not to say mutant. No matter how good-naturedly he said it, women, he found, took it rather offensively. " And here you are." Snapping back to reality, Charles realized just how rude he was being. He hadn't even introduced himself! He smiled and stuck his hand out. "Charles Xavier."

"Raven," she said, hesitantly taking his. Charles shook her hand, trying to send soothing messages through the gesture. He wanted to show this girl she was safe with him, she would always be safe with him.

Then he practically banged his head against the wall. She was rummaging through their refrigerator! The poor girl must be starving and here he stood, the idiot he was, shaking her hand. "You're hungry and alone," he said, releasing her hand. He gestured all around him with his hand. "Take whatever you want. We've got lots of food, you don't have to steal," he said, looking her in the eyes. And looking at her, realizing he wasn't alone, he thought of the boy from his dream. Erik. His name was Erik. And then he made up his mind. "In fact," he said, staring into her eyes but only seeing Erik's blue ones, "you never have to steal again."


	2. Chapter 2

Erik awoke to see several men towering over him dressed in Nazi clothing. Eyes widening, he tried to push up, to get away. But he was restrained by something. Looking down, he realized he was strapped to a table, the cold metal digging into his bare back as leather straps encompassing his body restrained him. Thrashing more out of instinct than will, Erik knew it was over. He had no chance of escaping. He was helpless, a prison to the wills of the men standing over him. And he was a Jew. He knew no matter what they chose, it wasn't going to be good for him.

The men over him grimaced as their attention snapped to him. One of them reached a large hand out and slammed his fist down into Erik's side, knocking the wind out of him and causing a rather unhealthy crunching sound. Choking, Erik desperately gasped for air, only to aspirate on his blood.

"Shut up you worthless swine!" the man shouted, raising his fist for another strike.

An arm shot out, quick as lightning, catching the other man's arm. It was a man dressed in a dark suit. His greased back black hair and pressed attire gave him a look of wealth. The imported gun from Britain proved he had authority. "Shaw wants him alive," he said, his voice fluid in comparison to the other's guttural German, "unharmed." The look he gave the soldier had the other man's face draining of color and his legs shaking in fear.

"Of course, sir," the Nazi said, staring up at the man in fear, "right away."

"That's a good little soldier," the man said, smirking as he released the other man's fist and ruffled his hair in a demeaning fashion. "Now," he said, brushing his hand against his pants like he'd touched something repulsing, "be a dear and leave us alone."

The soldier's face grew hesitant, "But sir," he said softly, his voice slightly cracking, "we were told to keep watch over the boy."

"Are you defying me soldier?" The man asked, raising an eyebrow at the Nazi threateningly. When the Nazi hurriedly shook his head in denial, the soldier straightened up to his full height, a good 6'3" and glared down at the man two heads shorter than him. "Then are you suggesting that I can't hold my own against a measly boy?" he asked, his voice laced with anger and disgust. Rapidly shaking his head back and forth in refutation, the soldier looked like he just wanted to die and get it over with. Instead, the man simply smiled down at him, relaxing his stance and patted him on the shoulder. "Glad we settled that," he said cheerfully. "Now leave us."

The soldiers fled the room as fast as humanly possible, tripping over one another in their haste.

When they were all gone and it was just the two of them in the room, the man let out a chuckle and turned to Erik. "Let's get you out of those chains  _Metallmanipulierer_ ," he said gently, moving over to the table Erik lay on. Working the straps out of the clasps, he released Erik. As soon as the last restraint was off, Erik leapt off the table, dashing for the door. Slamming into it, he twisted the handle, trying to pry it open, but it held shut. Spinning around, Erik scrunched up, tensing his thin body up, trying to become as small as possible, readying himself to either fight or flee. But the other man simply smiled at him, held up both hands in surrender, and said, "Easy there  _Metallmanipulierer_. I'm trying to help you."

Erki glared at the man, eyeing the pistol on his belt in suspicion. Following his gaze, the man chuckled. "This? You fear this  _Metallmanipulierer_. It's useless against you," The man said as he slowly pulled the gun out and set it on the floor, straightening up to look at Erki again. "Come now  _Metallmanipulierer_ ," he said, gesturing

"Understand this, Erik..." Shaw said as soon as Erik was ushered into the room for his third session. Shaw knew today was the day. The first two times had simply been to warm the boy up to him and explain what he wanted. Now the boy was going to deliver. One way or another. "These Nazis. I'm not like them." Pausing, Shaw looked towards Erik and saw the skepticism. Choosing to change the subject before he lost the boy completely, Shaw said, "Genes are the key, yes? But their goals? Blue eyes? Blond hair? Pathetic." Staring at Erik as if the boy was to understand and completely agree with him, Shaw was surprised at the blank look on the boy's face. Trying to relate to his inner child, "Eat the chocolate. It's good," he said, taking a bite, trying to tantalize the boy into saying something. "Want some?"  **"** I want to see my mama," the boy responded resolutely. The sentence was short, but underneath his words was a strength that said he wasn't going to cooperate till he got what he wanted.

Sighing, Shaw wondered why they all had to be so whiney. It was always 'I want to see my mom.' 'I'm hungry.' 'I hate you because you killed my parents and tried to use me in your insane experiments.' These people couldn't look past it all and see that what he was offering them was greater than their petty wishes. "Genes are the key to the door leading into a new era, Erik," he said, getting to his point since he saw no way to soften the boy up. "A new future for humanity. Evolution." At the confused look on Erik's face at the word, Shaw wanted to groan. Hadn't this boy been educated? "You know what I mean? I'm not asking for much. A small coin, it's nothing compared to the huge gates. Isn't that right?"

Erik knew what Shaw was hinting at. The man had slowly been building an idea in his mind. An idea about mutants and supremacy and an advanced race in which he would be royalty. All he needed to do to secure a spot for him and his family was to move this coin. Eyebrows scrunching in concentration, Erik tried to find the spot in his mind he had felt all those days before. Feeling nothing, he raised his hands, hoping that it would help someway. After a minute of trying, Erik gave up, feeling the tension of a future headache coming through. "I've tried, sorry Doctor. I cannot...I do not...it is impossible," he said, struggling to find words to express how disappointed he was. He wanted nothing more than to do what the man wanted. He wanted a good life for himself and his mother and father. A life where they didn't have to scavenge and flee the Nazis just to survive. A life where they were the ones people cringed away from. A life of power.

Shaw sighed. He didn't want to do this. His guard had grown to like Erik and he knew doing this wasn't going to get him points with his already rebellious soldier. And the man was so talented he didn't want to go through the hassle of finding someone only half as good as him to replace the man. But Erik was giving him no choice. He needed results and he needed them now. "The only thing I can say in favor of the Nazis is that their methods are producing results," He paused here, looking at the boy before him. He was so small, so fragile. They would have to fix that. "I'm sorry, Erik."

Shaw called the soldiers stationed outside to bring their secret weapon in. Erik's face lit up when his mother walked in. They ran to each other, embracing for the brief moment they could. Then when the soldiers dragged them apart, Erik's fingers twitched as he tried to keep from reaching for her. "Now this is what we will do," Shaw said. "I count to three, and you move the coin. If you do not move the coin, I'll pull the trigger. Do you understand?"

Erik's arms reached out and his face screwed together as he concentrated as hard as he could. He felt strength flood through him. He wanted this so much. He wanted more than anything to show his mother what he could do and make her life so much easier.  **"** One." Panic flooded through him as nothing happened. "Mama!" he explained, praying she had the answers to make his power work.  **"** You can do it," his mother said, trying to send him her love even though she knew she was going to die.

Erik turned back to the coin, pulling at all the power within him towards his purpose.

**"** Two."

Instinctively looking at his mother, her face looked drawn and resigned. "It's alright. It's alright. It's alright!"

Erik pulled and pulled, sensing something in the center or his mind that he couldn't seem to reach no matter how he tried. He pulled at it but it seemed to slip from his grasp.

**"** Three."  **Bang!**

The shot rang through the room. Silence followed. Erik felt his stomach drop and a lump form in his throat as he stared straight ahead, the coin left unforgotten. It was several moments before he regained control of his limbs and slowly, very slowly he turned his head. The sight he met made his body feel like it was weighed down by lead. His mother lay in a pile, her lims unnaturally spread out across the floor and scarlet blood seeped from the gunshot in her chest. Her clothes, the clothes she had worn since they had been put in the ghettos, was ragged and stained. She was slowly losing the color of life: the soft pink in her cheeks, the gold tint to her face, and her warm, loving eyes.

Then the screams started ripping from his throat. The power he couldn't seem to grasp before came rushing at him in waves. Wherever he turned, all the metal would bend and twist. They screamed with him as they morphed to become twisted and broken just like Erik. They snapped as his control snapped and they matched his anguished screams one by one. By the end of his rampage, Erik had destroyed all the metal in the room and the room adjacent to it. Standing there panting, Erik felt the fire die in him leaving behind a deep sense of numbness and hatred. Hatred towards the Nazis for tearing his life at its seams, hatred at Shaw for killing his mother, and hatred towards everyone else for not saving him.

"Unbelievable, Erik," Shaw said, walking up behind him to place his hand on his shoulder. "We have opened your gift with anger. Anger and pain. You and I are going to have a lot of fun."

Erik couldn't bring himself to look at the man. He wanted nothing more than to drive the metal rod lying next to him straight through the other man's eye, but he held back. No, Shaw would die later. He would let Shaw believe he had his personal soldier. He would stay and learn all the other man had to offer him, grow as powerful as he could, then show the world that Erik Lensherr wasn't going to take shit from anyone any longer. That he was the one with the power. That he was superior to them all.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Charles gasped, sobbing as his eyes refocused.

"Oh thank God, Charles," Raven said, hovering over him in her blonde girl form. "I thought we lost you."

Charles, having never heard Raven say such a thing since his first attack with her in the room, was immediately worried. "How long have I been out?" he asked, his fear imminent. The longest he'd been under while still conscious was an hour. Four when he was sleeping.

"Six," Raven said as she fluttered around him, trying to check his temperature and vitals. Charles didn't even bother trying to swat her off. He was just sitting there, shocked, as her words sunk in.  _Six hours._ This dreaming had continued every night and at least twice a week during the day ever since that first one two years before, yet Raven always acted as if he were going to never come back. But  _six hours_. He had never even spent that long while dreaming.

"It was bad," Charles finally forced out, "the dream I mean. Almost as bad as the first one. I forgot how bad those felt until now," Charles said, pressing a hand against his heart as he felt it start tearing to shreds. He had watched Erik for two years; watched as he was forced into training camp after training camp where people would dissect his mind with their questions and push his body to its limits. He watched as Erik was starved and beaten within inches of his life. But none of the pain or the agony he had felt during those dreams could come close to these ones. These ones cut deeper than the sting of physical beatings. He had literally felt Erik's mind twisting and breaking and becoming deformed as his hate burned deeper and deeper. And Charles could feel part of it within himself. The part of him that had always held disdain towards his mother for her constant absence in his life simply because he was different had turned into loathing. He could feel dark energy within his mind, finding purchase in every negative thought he had every had. And he didn't like it.

"You need to tell someone, Charles," Raven said. When Charles looked at her in complete horror, she waved her arms around as she tried to ammend her statement. "I'm jsut saying that perhaps they could help you break this link. It can't be healthy. I say you should tell the doctor about this. He'll know a way to fix it."

Anger swelled within Charles at her word. A life without the link was pointless. He had grown so dependent upon the constant access to another mind so like his, so similar in all ways that mattered and in many ways that didn't. He needed Erik. He had come to know the boy, come to know his life, his struggles, his thoughts, his dreams. They fueled him to do all that he did. To aim to become a professor to guide those like them so that they would never have to endure what Erik had. To make a difference. To fix the world so that Erik could stop hating everyone and just live his life the way he wanted. And he wanted to be a part of that life. "If you ever suggest that again," Charles said, his voice grim and his eyes harsh, "I will throw you back out on the streets. Am I clear?"

Raven flinched from his look, scared. Charles had never looked at her like that. It was Erik. He always made Charles bad. He wasn't a good influence, and Raven would do anything to keep them from ever growing closer than they were. Because she loved Charles and didn't want to see him get hurt.

And this Erik Lensherr was nothing but a road of pain and suffering.

Charles hated hurting Raven, but she had no right. She should have never spoken about the link like that. It wasn't bad for him. It saved him. And he would never break it, because in his heart he wanted, more than anything else, to meet Erik.

Because Erik Lensherr was the only person who would ever understand.


	3. Chapter 3

Erik landed with a light thud against the floor, panting heavily, crouched and ready to spring back into action at any moment. His skin was covered with a thick layer of sweat, his clothes, a thin white dress shirt unbuttoned and black dress pants, were soaked in a mixture of sweat, blood, and dirt. There were tears in them and his blood oozed out of several minor cuts littered along his body. His shoes were covered in dust and blood and he balanced on the balls of his feet.

"Come now  _Metallmanipulierer_ ," a soldier dressed in a pristine, pressed black suit called from 10 feet away. He wiped the blood off his katana with a white handkerchief. "Surely that's not all you can do?" he asked tauntingly, his smooth, deep voice gentle and coaxing.

Taking a deep breath, Erik pulled the dagger out of its sheath attached to his hip and pounced. He smoothly landed a few feet away from the soldier and broke into a brisk sprint towards the other man who, upon seeing him advance, smiled and placed his handkerchief back in his pocket. He stood there, the hilt of his blade held loosely and the tip touching the ground, watching the young boy advancing upon him. His footsteps were sloppy with exhaustion and he was panting hard as he ran, dagger gripped tightly in his right. He saw the tensing of his right before the boy flung himself to the soldier's left and swiped at him with the blade.

Sidestepping easily, the soldier frowned at the other. His movements were sluggish and lacked control. He sheathed his sword and the boy's face twisted in anger as he landed. The man shook his head in disappointment and the boy's face fell, ashamed of his inability to meet his mentor's expectations. Walking over to him, the man reached his hand out and ruffled the young one's hair.

Looking up in surprise, Erik couldn't keep his surprise off his face when he saw the man down at him fondly. Day one and Erik had just failed his first lesson, but the man stood there, playfully ruffling his hair and looking at him proudly.

"Very good  _Metallmanipulierer_ ," the man said, his deep voice light. He looked down at his student. His chocolate eyes twinkled in merriment as he looked down at his student, drenched from all the effort he had just exerted. The corner of his mouth was turned up in a smile, his cheek bleeding slightly from Erik's well-aimed swipe. Not many men could have landed a blow on him and on the very first day of their training, Erik had shown a promise he had not seen in years. He had skillfully applied all his past lessons at the training camps into this fight and the soldier couldn't help but smile at what the boy could be under his guidance.

Erik was so confused. "But I lost sir," he said, his head falling again, staring sadly at the soldier's shoes. He felt shame when the simple movement sent a wave of pain through him.

The soldier rolled his eyes, getting down and sitting next to the boy in agura. He used his fingers to pull the young boy's shin up to look at him. "But you fought valiantly," he said, pointing to the deep cut on his cheek. When he say the boy's skeptical look he added, "You mustn't be too hard on yourself  _Mettallsaurferei_. It is but your first lesson. To land a blow on me at such an early stage is commendable. Do not worry yourself; it will take time to learn the art of combat. But I promise that as long as I am with you I shall teach you what I know."

"Thank you sir," Erik said with respect. He knew how skilled the man was at what he did and he knew that it was an honor to train under him. To get a compliment from such a master made him smile slightly.

The soldier openly smiled at the slight raise in the corners of the boy's mouth. Though it was feeble, the man knew any sort of reaction from the boy was marvelous. His smiled dimmed as he thought about what the boy would have to endure under Shaw's guidance. He wanted to protect the boy. He had grown fond of him, for reasons which he did not know. Perhaps it was because he had always wanted a son. But he vowed he would make it as bearable as possible for the boy. He could do that much for him. "Please, don't call me sir. It sounds too proper," he said, smiling at the boy.

Erik paused. "Then, what do I call you?" he asked quietly.

"Whatever you want,  _Metallmanipulierer_ ," he said softly. No one actually knew his name, instead opting for one of the many names he had been given on the battlefield. And if he was honest, he couldn't remember it himself. The memories of his old life had long ago been buried in the bodies of his enemies and drown in the blood of innocents.

Erik paused for a moment, thinking about what the man was to him. He was a new beginning, a mentor in his future life. But  _Lehrer_  seemed to common for this man. This man was strong and he was going to train Erik to be just as strong. They would become the strongest team the world had ever seen. He needed a name that accented his power. "How about _Mannschaft?" Erik asked hesitantly._

The soldier thought about it for a moment.  _Team_  he thought. Smiling at the intimacy this name held compared to all the many others, the soldier looked at Erik, feeling a wave of paternal affection wash over him. "Sound perfect, _Metallmanipulierer."_

 

* * *

"Again," the woman shouted, anger evident in her voice as she cracked the ruler on the table, inches from the young boy's fingers. Charles resisted his desire to pull them away because he knew it would simply give her reason to hit him. No man should fear pain, she always said. And he did not want to upset her. Despite being a woman, Ms. Anna was one of the top scholars of the modern age. That she was working as his tutor spoke more of the sexism of the modern age than any movement could. This woman's mind was just as good as any other scholar of this age and she had a tongue sharper than a lawyer. She was not to be messed with.

Charles picked the book,  _The Advanced Study of the Human Body,_  up again, carefully trying to read the words fluidly and confidently as Ms. Anna instructed. He found himself stumble on the same word as before, some technical term that was Latin in origin and no matter how Charles tried, he couldn't seem to get the second and third syllable to combine. He heard the  _click clack_ of Ms. Anna's and the rhythmic tapping of the ruler against her palm cease and knew she had had enough with his errors. "Do you think this is a joke?" she asked pointedly, Charles' eyes automatically seeking her face out. What he saw astonished him. Ms. Anna's always blank face looked shadowed. Her eyes lacked any emotion other than a deep look of exhaustion. Her hair was pulled back from her face as per usual, but several strands had escaped, jutting out in different directions giving her an unkempt sort of look. She looked years older and Charles knew he was seeing the effect the war had left on her after her son had been taken in a bombing.

"I'm sorry ma'am?" he asked slowly, too shocked to say anything else.

The look remained on Ms. Anna's face, but her eyes seemed to gain their fire back. "Do you think this is all a game? That it's funny for you to be sitting here, slacking off in your lessons while people out there are  _dying_. While people are suffocated and burned to death. Tortured until they beg and scream to die?" she asked, her eyes gaining a haunted look and she seemed to lose sense of time, going somewhere deep within the recesses of her mind. "Bleeding as iron buries itself deep in their bodies, having been shot with the hate and intention to kill those others felt when they pulled the trigger. To cry yourself to sleep every night because you just want to die and it all to end, to finally be with those you love but have lost—"

"Ms. Anna…?" Charles asked, worried about the way his teacher looked.

His words fell on deaf ears. "—But you know there is no hope, because tomorrow all of the pain and agony is simply going to begin again. And the people who deal the blows laugh at you, mock you, degrade you, make you into an animal. All the while with a smile on their face. Your suffering delights them; they live to see you break and become something worse than human. Then, and only then, do they kill you like the animal you have become—"

"Ms. Anna!" Charles shouted, grabbing his teacher by the shoulders and shaking her. He felt a deep stabbing pain within him with each word she said and the image of Erik the day before, covered in blood and sweat after he was ruthlessly beaten by one of his trainers kept flashing in his mind. How he hadn't been able to even walk because the flesh on his legs had been torn into with a whip so many times that there was hardly any skin left unmarred. Charles felt the sense of fear again as he wondered what would have happened had his mentor not walked in at that moment and slammed the trainer into the wall, stabbing him through the hand and leaving him there, knife embedded in his palm and pinned him to the wall. "Ms. Anna, please, please stop," he choked out. He shakily begged the woman in his arms to stop, tears streaming down his face as the image of Erik being carried down the hall in the arms of his seething mentor burned into his mind. "Please, just stop," he choked out before he passed out.

Charles awoke in a room he knew better than any other. He had spent many day in here over the past two years, looking around as he paced. His eyes were magnetically drawn to the young boy lying on the only bed in the room. A gasp escaped his lips before he could help it.

Erik's face was drawn and pale, covered in sweat. His brown hair was matted and darker in spots where his blood had dried. The strands looked like black ink in contrast with his white skin. He was dressed in a light hospital dress and covered from his forearms down by a thick wool blanket. Even from here Charles could see Erik was shivering. Walking over, Charles was grateful he had discovered his ability to move objects in these dreams, though only if Erik was touching the item too. Which meant no matter how he tried, Charles couldn't lift anything, even in the physical world. So Charles lifted the blanket up, instantly dropping it back down as a sound of pure astonishment forced itself from his convulsing throat. But it was too late. The image was already seared into Charles brain.

He hadn't looked  _that_  bad yesterday, Charles thought in shock.  _But he was covered entirely with blood_ , the voice within him said,  _and you were too busy trying to lift that knife out and stab the trainer._ Shut up, Charles shouted back, hand slowly reaching out and lifting the blanket painstakingly slow. Each inch that became exposed was horrific; the flesh was torn and jagged, crisscross patterns all over Erik's body where the whip had broken through the skin and tore into the muscles underneath. The wounds looked red and angry and the meat beneath it glowed blood red. At least the bleeding's stopped, Charles thought and none look like they're going to fester. They seemed to have administered some sort of antiseptic.

Erik shifted slightly and let out a quick exhale of pain. Charles' attention was drawn from the bloody carnage of the boy's legs to his face. Erik's eyes stared blindly up, open but unseeing. He's dreaming, Charles thought, moving up to Erik's side. Then the boy let out a broken sob and his arms came up, searching for something that wasn't there. His eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, clouded with sleep, but the fear within them was evident. Charles didn't know what was coming over him, Erik couldn't feel him, but Charles instinctively reached a hand out for the other boy's hand, curling their fingers together. For a moment, Charles thought his hand was simply going to pass right through the other boy's hand, but then Erik did something bizarre. His fingers curled around Charles', and he pulled both their hands down to his cheek. Charles didn't know how he did it, just that Erik was holding his hand as though it were really there and he could feel it. And his stomach was doing an odd sort of tap dance because of that. Trying to pull his arm away, Charles could feel Erik squeeze his hand tighter, pulling it closer to him and pulling Charles himself closer. At the same time, Erik lifted his other arm and pressed the palm of it against Charles' cheek which had stooped when the other boy had tugged him.

Eyes widening, Charles froze under the touch. It was all too intimate, all too real. He could feel Erik's hand, his warm skin pressed against his own, the points where their skin met heating up to a level that was both pleasant and painful. Then he relaxed into the touch, because Erik's eyes were staring into his and though he could see the other boy was asleep, there was something in his eyes that made him look… awake. And there was something else in the look that he couldn't place, but it made the strange dance in his stomach speed up even more. He was aware his heart was hammering within his chest, the sound almost deafening. But he could feel Erik's heart beating too, the tempo matching his. He felt the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in time with Charles and it made his head spin and his knees go weak.

Then the moment was ruined as the door to the infirmary slammed open. Charles' eyes shot to the door guiltily before returning to Erik's. Stepping away from Erik's hand, Charles pulled his arm, trying to free it from Erik's grasp. But Erik held on tighter and Charles felt himself getting desperate. The whole scene had shifted in a second and all Charles could think was that he had to get out of here, had to get away from this place. Had to get away from Erik. His eyes met with Erik's one last time and he could see the sleep starting to leave the boy, his eyes becoming less clouded but also losing that strange look of awaking from before. Right then, he saw Erik's lips move, his voice but a whisper.

"Please don't go."

And then Charles ripped his hand out of Erik's, the other boy trying to grab him back, but it was futile. As soon as the physical contact was broken, Charles felt as if he had been thrown into cold water and when he resurfaced he was back in his body, in the room he had been having his lessons in before. He was drenched and a worried looking Ms. Anna looked down at him.

That's when the tears came.


End file.
